


Christmas Came Late

by Laura_Laplace



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Light BDSM, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Scarf Kink, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Laplace/pseuds/Laura_Laplace
Summary: Emily has her Christmas gift... what will she give Lena in return?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Increasingly late Christmas present for my followers and commissioners. If you like what you see, get in touch! I'll write you up a storm.

‘So this is _my_ present…’ Emily wrapped her scarf around the fingers of one hand, the thick knit easily enough to wrap up her forearm. As she toyed idly with the dangling end, a speculative aspect entered her expression that Lena knew all too well. A nervous knot formed in Tracer’s stomach, lined throughout with brewing excitement. When Emily turned to her wife, what she said next didn’t surprise at all: ‘I think you’ll be wanting yours now, Lena.’

The tone in Emily’s voice had been a slick, silken thing, wrought in high-class British syllables and a level of control that Lena herself had never been able to match. In an instant the happy, smiling Emily that had opened her gift that morning was gone, replaced with a queen atop their couch, limbs draped with elegant grace across the plush fabric. The lines of her smile had shifted from wide delight to a softer, narrower form of amusement, wry and powerful, focused entirely at Lena as she sat opposite, the warmth of Emily’s lips still lingering on her own. 

‘Do I?’ Tracer felt herself blushing, the psychic pressure of Emily’s gaze turning her hot and fidgety, no doubt precisely as the redhead wanted. Without responding, Emily stood and moved in front of her wife; Emily already had a good half a foot on Tracer at the best of times, but with the Overwatch agent seated she positively towered over her, looming overhead with her face in shadow. Only the glittering prurience of her eyes remained totally visible, piercing Lena through and causing her thighs to squeeze together. 

‘Oh yes,’ Emily whispered, her voice a husky scrape, laden with lust. ‘You do.’

‘Y-yes, Miss…’

‘Get your accelerator, Lena dearest,’ Emily breathed, her fingers tracing the line of her wife’s jaw, pressing in just enough to seem possessive, establishing ownership. The muscles beneath tensed and twitched, Tracer’s mouth working, her tongue moving obediently inside, miming what her Emily most certainly wanted. Large eyes looked up at her, and for a moment they remained like that, Emily’s touch working its way down Lena’s neck and beneath the neck of her shirt, extending with soft, teasing contacts to her breast. A scant second was all Tracer got of that, though she whimpered and arched, pressing herself into Emily’s hand, before the other woman withdrew and pointed, expectantly, to the coffee table, where Tracer had left her chronal accelerator. 

The glowing blue device wasn’t needed all the time- Winston’s invention had lingering effects upon Tracer’s physiology that kept her anchored in time for a while without need for upkeep- but having been asked to retrieve it left Lena in no doubt as to what Emily intended, the thought filling her with a mix of trepidation and excitement. Retrieving it, Tracer almost strapped it into place above her shirt, before Emily’s stern shake of the head stopped her; blushing furiously, Lena lifted her shirt over her head and let it drop, revealing small breasts she positioned the device between. 

A tingle on her skin signified that the chronal accelerator was properly attached, a sensitivity that turned her every movement into a constant, tickling process as the machine anchored her to the present time, pushed her mind and body into this moment precisely. At this time, and in this place, the sensation was curiously erotic, a shot of pure sexuality right to the heart as Emily moved over to her and placed her hands on Lena’s hips, drawing her close. They kissed, and Tracer felt her knees weaken. 

With motions so gentle and subtle that Lena took a moment to actually realize she was being moved, Emily took hold of her wife’s wrists and brought them together in front of her. Folding her scarf, she wrapped it around her wife’s wrists, twining them together as Tracer watched before finally securing the line, creating a little knot in the knit to keep her from pulling it apart. It was simple work- with a little persistence Tracer could easily see herself slipping out of it- but that was the beautiful thing about Emily, that consuming simplicity that could be deviously complex when looked at from certain angles. Lena wouldn’t dream of trying to untie herself, not with Emily looking at her with eyes that had suddenly filled with liquid helium; she was here, topless and bound before the redhead, for sex. That was the simple. 

The devious and complex would come from what Emily intended to do with the chronal accelerator. She was already fiddling with her bracelet. 

The bracelet had been an anniversary gift from Lena to Emily, with the expectation that the latter would turn it into a gift for the former. She had done so with aplomb, transformed the jewelery into a collar for Tracer, worn around her owner’s wrist. Wrought in gold, an engraved faceplate on the front- “With love, all of the time, -Lena” - slid back, revealing a small, pressure-sensitive display, the keys to Lena’s kingdom, a set of controls that could also be found on Tracer’s combat regalia…

Imagine the sort of trust it would take to have something so integral to your being as Tracer’s chronal core, and to give control of that to another. Consider the power someone with that control would have over her. 

Picture the shock on Winston’s face, at being asked to create another, duplicate control set for the chronal accelerator, linked to the first…

‘Under the tree, Lena dear,’ Emily chirped, suddenly bright and happy. ‘Let’s make this appropriately festive, shall we?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ Lena mumbled, her cheeks aflame. Shuffling over to the tree, she dropped to the floor onto her back at Emily’s command, raising her bound arms above her head in a gesture of submission, stretching her body out for her mistress’ pleasure. She struggled not to move as Emily approached and knelt on the floor beside her, placing hands on the prone girl to arrange limbs and tweak her position just as Emily liked. Little red and green bulbs above shone colored light down on Tracer’s thighs as Emily pulled her jeans down for her, painting her pale skin in warm, festive tones. Tinsel caught the light and bent it at strange angles, like spotlights, tiny pinpricks of luminous color dancing across Lena’s nudity. 

Her wife took a moment to enjoy the sight, calm eyes sweeping up and down Lena’s smooth, glowing curves. By now being naked around her shouldn’t have made her squirm, but Tracer felt embarrassment rise in her chest anyway, ashamed more of the look she was being given, those bedroom eyes staring down at her while she was tied, than of the person giving it. Emily’s intent was clear, and with her pants bunched around her knees and her hands bound above her head, there was little Tracer could do about that.

And even less that she would want to do.

As Emily toyed with the controls on her bracelet, Tracer felt the curious tug and pull of time wrenched out of alignment on her skin, the gentle, almost tidal force of different parts of her body moving through causality at different speeds. The secondary signal in the bracelet took a while to connect with the accelerator fully, so as to avoid any accidental tampering at inopportune moments. A second later it all snapped into place, the shifting alterations to her personal time coming together into a single, unified pressure, light against her body. Emily leaned down, kissed Lena on the lips, softly and gently. 

‘Merry Christmas, Lena,’ she whispered, and touched two fingers to the controls. Everything went dark for Tracer, a few moments passing in deep blackness as light slowed to a stop and took a little longer than usual to reach her eyes. She could hear herself breathing, but the hiss of it went on for too long, the air turning to treacle the moment it left her lips. Sealed in her own little world, a tiny pocket of normal time with the rest of the world slowed to almost nothing, Tracer would have to endure everything Emily had concocted over the course of… hours? 

Days?

It wouldn’t be the first time Emily had held her under like that…

With the world darkened and silent, it was hard for Lena to even predict where Emily would come from; she knew where the redhead had started, but she could move anywhere in the murk beyond her bubble of reality, with glacial slowness and without Lena detecting a thing. And so the British girl jerked with surprise as fingers breached the bubble and slipped inside, landing on Tracer’s inner thigh. As they tracked up toward her pussy, Emily’s face loomed into view too, her expression almost still, her tongue extended and, suddenly, sweeping across one nipple before vanishing off into the gloom. She appeared again, just as her fingers slid into Lena’s hole, teeth now nipping at the skin just above Tracer’s collarbone. 

All in all, Tracer supposed it must have been a span of thirty seconds of “real” time, out there beyond the slowed down world Emily had created for her. Actually measuring this was hard, however, as Lena had always had trouble getting her head around the subtle ways that Emily could use the accelerator; something had happened to her perception of time, and with the rest of the world slowed to a crawl she could only assume she had been sped up somehow. Emily’s fingers and mouth dotted her body in their own time, slow before they entered the bubble, then blisteringly fast for the few moments they lingered within it. Sometimes it was a kiss to the navel, at others a pinch to Lena’s clit, or a scant few seconds of fingering, before Emily withdrew, only to resurface elsewhere. 

There was no pattern Lena could discern, nor any rhythm to how she touched her, just moments of contact between her and her wife, falling like sexual rain on Lena’s bare and open body. 

And then, just like that, it changed. All at once, the two spheres of time inverted…

Suddenly, it was Tracer that was held nearly in stasis, the rest of the world practically whizzing by above her. The lights from the tree ramped up in intensity, twinkling insanely in their sockets, and Emily became a human-shaped blur above, leaning over Lena yet moving so fast it was hard even to identify her as a person. Now, her touches were lightning fast, barely long enough for Tracer to register them, and they fell upon her in quick succession. Only seconds seemed to pass, yet she could feel Emily crawling across her body, licking and stroking and kissing so fast that it all blurred together into a single, body-wide act of sensuality. 

When the instant passed, Emily’s face hovered above Lena’s own, the smile on her lips growing in real time; somewhere in that miasma of pleasure, the redhead had realigned time so that they were together, at least for the moment. 

‘There. Done!’ Emily said brightly, and leaned in to peck Tracer on the lips. ‘Enjoy, love…’

She stood, and perched herself on the edge of the couch, but before Lena could question what she meant, Emily tapped at the face of her bracelet, setting in motion the plan she had concocted, the gift she had desired to give her wife. Emily vanished from her place, and in that same instant Lena lost the ability to move beyond the lightest of squirming, the bubble of her personal flow of time becoming tight and impregnable, as the world beyond began to judder and skip, changing shape so often and so quickly that Lena could no longer tell if it were running forward or backward, fast or slow. 

A voice whispered out of that trembling darkness, ‘Merry Christmas, Lena,’ and receded.

Emily’s face appeared above her momentarily, just long enough to chirp, ‘There. Done! Enjoy, love…’ with a kiss breaking the words in half, before she vanished once more. A second later, another ‘Merry Christmas, Lena,’; the tone and intonation were identical, taking Tracer from the beginning of their play to the end, and back again…

‘Oh, god…’ Lena whimpered in her little casket of time, the words whisked away from her almost instantly, audibly flowing in reverse once the sound-waves had gotten far enough away. Familiar fingers touched against her inner thigh, the first contact Emily had made to her in her time-bound world repeated as, in some other place and time, Emily toyed with the controls, rewinding and fast-forwarding the span of time Lena had spent within the bubble at her whim. Suddenly, Tracer skipped forward, her wife’s fingers jumping from her thigh to deep inside her with no transition between the two. The Overwatch agent gasped at the instantaneous sensation her cunt clenching around the fingers that… skipped again and bounced away, so that Lena’s wet walls strained around nothing. Then there were teeth around her nipple, biting down just hard enough to sting. Then there were not, and Emily’s lips were pressing to Lena’s belly, her tongue flicking against the sensitive skin there. 

The redhead really had left nothing to chance, here. During the time she had spent stroking and licking Tracer’s body, she had covered almost every inch of her, some of those at a speed faster than Lena could perceive, preserving the surprise when those same touches and kisses repeated themselves at a slower speed, seemingly at random. Every loving touch became a singular moment, to be played and replayed out of order, shards of sensation raining down on Lena’s body in complex, ever expanding patterns. Beyond the binds of her bubble, Tracer could see the world skipping, light brightening and dimming at random, Emily’s silhouette bobbing overhead like a buoy in a storm, her lips and tongue and fingernails and teeth intruding upon Tracer’s body with every incongruous change. 

The pad of a finger, running around her clit. Lips flowing along the line of her jaw. Fingers inside her- wasn’t that from the beginning, again?- pushing up at her g-spot. Teeth nipping at her calf. Fingers inside her, pleasure surging higher. Same fingers, now stroking the instep of her foot. Sticky wetness- her own?- run in a circle around her nipple, only to vanish as the world skipped again. Fingers inside her, god, so good. A hard slap to one breast, jolt of pain keeping her aware. Lips- hadn’t she felt that before?- flowing along the line of her jaw. A mouth on her cunt, licking and slurping, far longer than the others, making her cry out. Teeth- no… bring back the mouth!- nipping at her calf. Fingers inside her… _fuck!_

Fingers inside her. 

A full-fledged bite to her throat, surely hard enough to leave a mark. 

Fingers inside her, hips moving, fucking desperately against them now. 

Fingers inside her. 

A nipple, pinched between thumb and forefinger. 

A tongue forced into her mouth, so hard their teeth clinked together. 

Fingers inside her.

Need to come…

Fingers inside… _Nnngh!_

Same fingers, now stroking the instep of her foot.

Need to come…

Fingers- _Need to come!_

‘Please!’ Lena gasped, reduced to the parts of her body and the juddering repetition of a scant few minutes of time, jumbled out of order and played over and over until she knew nothing but those small touches and her desire to get off. It was possible Emily couldn’t even hear her, with her body drifting off in this timeless, repetitious abyss, but she needed to say it anyway, to plead to whatever strange temporal goddess controlled this place for relief. Perhaps Emily had heard, for moments later, the probing digits in her cunt began to appear much more frequently, bringing Lena closer to the edge than ever before. Those beautiful, slender fingers, that always knew right where to press, exactly how to touch her…

Lena came, felt herself clench and tremble, ecstasy brewing in her hips and pulsing outwards in a singular, electric wave-

-A hard slap to one breast, pain keeping her aware.

_‘No!’_

She had skipped again, traveled back in time to a point before her orgasm had started, only her brain recalling what she should be feeling in place of the burning arousal she felt now. Fingers inside her brought Lena close to the edge of it yet again, but pulled away before that final release could repeat itself. Tracer squirmed and mewled in anguish within her prison, the accelerator a blue blur on her chest, working overtime to keep up with the taxing commands being run through it. A bloom of orgasmic ecstasy ripped through Tracer, then vanished a second later, leaving her panting and wondering what had just happened.

Oh. Of course…

Somewhere in this cycle of moments, her orgasm was still taking place. She had just been pushed to a point before it happened, not removed from it entirely. Emily could skip her forward, into her climax just as easily as out of it again…

Emily was, naturally, smart enough that such a fact had not escaped her; flipping forward and backward through time now allowed her to drop Tracer directly into the boiling cauldron of sensation her orgasm represented, only to pull her out of it before she could truly enjoy herself. Doing so only confused Lena’s already skewed perceptions of herself, bouncing her from the crest of the wave back to its beginning, then to its end before ripping the entire thing away from her, denying Lena the bodily closure she required. She could only ever get a taste of the satisfaction before having it cruelly torn away, to be returned to the desperate need of moments before. Fingers teased and tongues licked, now so fast that there was barely a gap between distinct events, so that Emily’s lips sometimes seemed to be in two places at once.

How long had Lena been here? It was impossible to tell; her understanding of events was already shaky, as Emily had sped up their progression beyond her ability to recall them, but with even the distinct events she could remember playing and replaying over and over, the order shuffled out of all recognition, keeping time became impossible. There were always fingers, always Emily’s questing tongue and loving attention, maddening in their gentleness, the woman possessing them so far beyond hearing her pleas that actual communication was impossible. Not that it stopped Lena from begging, breathlessly, for actual release, though the words became incomprehensible shortly after leaving her lips.

She imagined Emily, lounging on the couch, watching the blurred, time-dilated silhouette of her wife writhe and scream, the sounds warped out of all recognition yet still carrying a stressed note of arousal and desperation thumping at the core of their twisted, haunting melodies. She imagined, possibly against her best interests, the smirk on Emily’s face, as she pawed at the controls and dropped Lena, momentarily, yet again into the roiling center of her orgasm, only to yank her out before completion could be reached. Something inside Tracer twisted, thinking of her wife’s sadistic pleasure at her torment.

… Yes, definitely against her best interests, then…

It must be something of a game to the redhead, Lena surmised, as the twisting streams of causality began contriving to push her to climax and hold her there for longer, seconds at a time, actually at normal speed, before yanking her back to the beginning of her orgasm right before she felt true satisfaction. Again and again, tugged back right at the moment of the climactic shudder, until she almost wept with the frustration of it. When the torment of that began to dull, Lena found herself going through her orgasm only to have that final second skipped, as though her body’s record had skipped a groove, before being returned to herself just as the climax began to wind down, still desperate for more even as it ebbed and pulled away. 

Then, she would be rewound, right back to the beginning, so the process could unfold all over again…

For hours, days, years, Tracer found new heights of desire, new depths of degradation, as she came on the floor of her home in a series of unfolding, empty ways. The same orgasm, ruined over and over, pleasure wrecked and dashed on the carpet, her own juices trickling out of her and rewinding back, only to drip down her lips anew. An infinity of identical climaxes cruelly ripped apart, itemized, and fed back to her with surgical precision in strange orders that forbade even a hint of true release. A Sisyphean nightmare of denial, playing out in her own personal hell, shaking and sweating well beyond the point of forming coherent words, left to simply babble and whimper in the dark, her brain soaked in endorphins, body marinating in its own unsated pleasure. 

Emily didn’t even need to be visible, to be at the center of Lena’s mind. Her queen, upon her throne, had decreed this, and so Lena would suffer, coming over and over in her time-locked prison, pleasure constantly hers yet perpetually beyond her grasp. That was what Emily wished. That was what she was. 

Tracer came. She did not. She came again. She had not come at all. 

‘Enjoy, love…’

The words were at the end of the Moment that had come to fill Lena’s entire existence, but she no longer recognized them. They had been so far away, the very idea that this Moment could end such an impossible dream that Lena had given up on hearing them again. For so long, too long, she simply lay back, naked and bound, the chronal accelerator cooling on her chest, without understanding that reality had gone back to normal, that the darkness had lifted and Emily was with her, stable and real. Tracer blinked, her eyes unfocused, dazed, need written on every inch of her, etched right down to her soul. She opened her mouth- to beg, to plead, to ask how long she had been out- but no sound emerged, her throat hoarse from screaming over what seemed like centuries. 

Between her legs, green eyes twinkled with gentle, loving mischief, framed by the reddest of red hair. Emily caught the light from the Christmas tree and held it, somehow wrapped it around her like a festive cloak. Tracer’s own private, sensual Santa. 

‘This is your Christmas present, Lena dearest,’ she said, and lowered her head. Her fingers and tongue met Lena’s pussy in the same moment. 

Tracer detonated. 

There was no other word to describe it. After time beyond description locked up and denied, the woman’s aching cunt and buzzing clit exploded into climax at the lightest of touches, an orgasm like a nuclear blast searing through overused nerve endings, blocking out all thought. Her thighs wrapped around Emily’s head, squeezing tight, unwilling to let the redhead go in case this was just another trick, precursor to yet more denial. But it wasn’t, it couldn’t have been, not now, and Emily’s kind eyes looked up at Lena from below as she licked and fingered her wife through a climax that rocked her to her core. The torment was over, and now, bound and possessed, an ageless slave of the one between her legs, Tracer was allowed her reward. 

Her back arched, muscles ached and protested, but Lena paid them no heed. Her voice a hoarse, grunting thing, lewd and shameless, easily loud enough for the neighbors to hear, didn’t worry her in the least. That which she had desired for a century at least, was hers at last. Tracer came, and she continued to come. 

Nothing stopped her. 

Coming down slowly, gently, she allowed Emily to undo the scarf from around her wrists, to wrap it around her shivering shoulders, and to be led to bed with it, almost as though it were a leash. Snow fell in thick flakes against the window, but she only had eyes for Emily; wide, staring eyes, that looked upon the woman who had finally gotten her to come with wonder and adoration. Emily kissed her, and she felt complete. 

‘You did so well, little lady,’ the redhead purred, and Lena flushed at the praise. Beneath the covers, a hand separated her legs, and fingers pushed once more into Tracer’s pussy. ‘I think you deserve a bit more, don’t you?’

It was, after all, still Christmas day. In a voice that hadn’t been used in some time- hours, days, years… most likely mere minutes- Tracer spoke, tremulously and hushed.

‘Y-yes, Miss…’


End file.
